My Soul is a Bride
by TemptressOfTheSouthernIsles
Summary: Modern high school AU set in a strict Catholic school. It's the boys' senior year, and Melchior finds himself ashamed and perplexed by early-grown freshman, Wendla Bergman. Moritz can't cope with the pain of living. Ilse's deep in the party life. Hanschen, star athlete, doesn't want his secret relationship to be revealed. Melchior/Wendla. Thea/Anna. Hanschen/Ernst. Moritz/Ilse.
1. The Naked-Blue Angel

"Wendla Bergan, you are _not_ wearing that dress on your first day of high school."

Wendla whipped around and gasped, catching sight of her mother standing in the doorway of her bathroom. Wendla had been trying on the dress she'd worn for eighth grade graduation, which had only happened three months earlier. But over the summer, she'd grown considerably taller, and had also attained curves. In consequence, the dress was far too revealing.

"Mama, I was only trying it on," Wendla laughed, turning back to the mirror to admire her figure. "It's nothing you haven't seen before."

"I most certainly have not," her mother replied. She glanced at her phone, and then tapped her foot impatiently. "Hurry up, now. School starts in an hour."

"Wait," Wendla replied absently. Her eyes widened in a haze-like manner, and she turned to view her mother. "You_ have_ seen it before. A woman's body, I mean."

"And why would you think that?" Frau Bergman questioned. There was a look of pure astonishment in her expression.

"Because, Mama! You've looked in mirrors! And, well... You have a body yourself."

"That's enough, Wendla," Frau shook her head and began inching away from the door. "I'll be in the kitchen, waiting. And don't forget, after school we're going to visit your aunt in the hospital."

"The aunt who's expecting another child."

"Yes, of course."

"And how is that possible, exactly?"

"What on earth do you mean?"

"Well, I mean... Why is she expecting a child?"

The color flushed to Frau's face. "Oh, Lord... Just pick an appropriate outfit and be ready by seven thirty. I don't want to have this discussion."

Once Frau was out of the bathroom, Wendla sighed and leaned against the counter. She knew if she had normal parents like the other girls at her school, she could merely google all of the burning questions she had; but her mother prohibited the internet, and television channels were monitored with a microscope.

She sighed, changed into her school uniform, and then got a ride from her bustling mother.

* * *

"Our senior year of high school," Melchior sighed with a sly smile as he took his first steps on the front lawn of Wedekind Catholic Preparatory School. He turned to share a mutual look of disdain with his trailing sidekick, Moritz Stiefel.

Moritz blinked apprehensively as his bead-like eyes scanned the school building. "I don't know, Melchie. This isn't going to be all sunny and easy. Senior tests can be pretty intense, I've heard..."

Melchior laughed. "That's what they want you to think. But in the end, if you know how to defeat the system..."

"The system?" Moritz squeaked.

"The system of grades. It's an intricate ploy of recipient and manipulation. Just watch and learn, Moritz."

A cluster of giggling girls passed the boys, each glancing briefly into Melchior's cool eyes.

Melchior turned to Moritz and chuckled. "Girls." He shook his head and slung his bag over his uniformed shoulder.

"Hey, come on," Moritz shrugged, attempting to appear uninterested. "Let's get to first period. German Literature, right?"

They entered the school, strolled past groups of excited freshmen, and found seats in their classroom.

"So much clutter in the hallways," Melchior observed. His body was twisted so he could view bystanders pass by the door. "Off to their classes. They have no idea..."

"No idea about what, Melchie?" Moritz questioned. Once again, he found himself perplexed by his best friend. How cool and at ease he always seemed to be, how he always knew about nearly everything before anybody else.

"You'll find out yourself one of these days," Melchior shrugged, turning to Moritz.

"Hey, Melchie, you doin' soccer this year?" a handsome blonde classmate, Hanschen, asked, shoving past a couple of boys to get a good seat near Melchior.

"Nope Hans," Melchior shrugged with indifference. "I'm afraid I'm not doing soccer or any sport, for that matter. I've got other things to attend."

"Like what?"

The entire classroom was listening.

"That's enough," an old gruff voice yelled, cutting their conversation short. Through the door entered the teacher, Herr Seyda. He was an old, bitter man, hunched over on a cane, with eyes dead set on ruining the boy's lives with mountains of homework.

"This is your senior year..." Herr Seyda began rambling from the front of the room. "There will be no monkey business..."

Melchior sighed loudly so that the entire classroom could hear his boredom; he then lowered himself in his seat with his black boots jutted out, eyes half-closed in a sleepy haze.

_It's the first minute of class, and Melchior's already acting like a douchebag, _Moritz thought, running a hand through his unkempt hair.

"Melchie..." Moritz whispered, leaning over. "Melchie, sit up. He's gonna' notice if you-"

"_Melchior Gabor._"

Melchior raised his eyebrows slightly and parted his mouth, but his careless posture remained intact.

"Sit up, Gabor, unless you want to stay after class on your first day."

In the slowest manner possible, Melchior nonchalantly raised himself up.

"I won't tolerate disrespect," Herr Seyda growled. "Especially not from the likes of _you_. Oh yes, Gabor, I've heard all about you and your antics from your previous teachers... But I'm not like them. I'm not soft. I won't tolerate an arrogant waste of talent."

"Waste of-" as he was about to question Herr Seyda's comment, Melchior froze in his seat and ceased talking. His jaw clenched, and his eyes were wide and fixated on the classroom door's window.

"Well," Herr Seyda said, pleased with himself. "I seem to have made my point. Not another word from you, Gabor. Now then, class..."

The teacher rambled on, but Moritz found Melchior's abrupt shift in mood to be strange.

Once the bell rang, Melchior immediately piled his belongings into his arms and then shot out of the classroom before Moritz could reach him in time.

"Shit," Moritz mumbled as he navigated through the cluttered hallways. "Shit, shit, shit. He's fucked. No, _I'm_ fucked."

* * *

It was only a few hours later, after gym class in the old yellowed gymnasium, that Moritz found Melchior sitting alone in the school's courtyard.

Melchior had been lounging beneath an oak tree, his school uniform unbuttoned to expose his summer-tanned chest, and his brown hair damped against his forehead. He was reading a tattered copy of "Faust".

"Getting a head start on German Literature?" Moritz questioned, having a seat by his friend.

Melchior blinked and seemed almost startled as Moritz positioned himself. "Oh, hi," he said. "Faust is beautiful. I couldn't care less if it was required reading or not."

"So," Moritz sucked his cheeks in, dreading the awkwardness. "Why'd you get so weird in Herr Seyda's class earlier?"

"What do you mean?"

"Don't play dumb."

"I'm truly clueless," Melchior lied.

"You stared at the door and allowed Herr Seyda to win the argument. You let him _win_, Melchie."

"Oh, _that._"

"No shit. Why'd you do it?"

Melchior ran his fingers along a loose page of his booklet. "I saw somebody, that's all."

"Well, who was it!?"

"Ilse," Melchior grinned widely, nudging Moritz in the shoulder.

Moritz grimaced, feeling a tingle in his stomach at remembrance of his middle school crush. "Really, Melchie... Who did you see?"

"Alright, alright." Melchior glanced around the empty courtyard and then leaned in closer to his friend. "I saw Wendla Bergman."

It took a moment for Moritz to process the name. "Oh, _Wendla_! The one who played pirates with us when we were little. She goes to school here now?"

"She's a freshman," he replied automatically. "I remember her now. All the details. And she walked by the classroom." In a more fascinated tone, Melchior added: "She's got _breasts._"

"Really?" Moritz's eyes shot up.

"I mean, she's a freshman. But she definitely doesn't look like one."

Moritz nodded and ran a hand along his eyes. He stiffled a yawn and lazily tried to think of a good reply to Melchior's comment, but to no avail.

"Have you been sleeping well?" Melchior questioned suddenly.

"Oh," Moritz waved his hand. "Sure. My mattress is sore, that's all."

"No," Melchior shook his head, getting a better look at his friend. "You were like this when we camped last week. What's up?"

"It's really not an issue, Melchie," Moritz shrugged a shoulder. "But if you must insist, I guess I could spare you the details. Long story short, I've had some pretty fucked up dreams."

A dark emotion wavered in Melchior's eyes. "Like, violent dreams-?"

"Shit, of course not," Moritz said quickly. "I'm not one of those psychos. I mean, dreams about... _You know_."

The realization dawned on Melchior, and an explosive grin erupted on his face. "Wet dreams!"

"_Shhh_," Moritz hissed, jumping to his feet and pinning Melchior against the tree. "I can't help it! They come to me, I don't come to them!"

"That's nothing to be ashamed of! Men get them all the time. Women, too. It's the movie of evolution."

Moritz's eyes wouldn't leave the ever so interesting freckle on his wrist. "... Really?"

Melchior glanced around. People were beginning to enter the courtyard, leaving their last classes of the day. "Moritz, I'm going to give you a special Internet URL... When you get home, take your laptop and lock yourself in the bathroom with the shower on so nobody can hear you fap to this beautiful website."


	2. Nothing But Your Hand

Thea stood in front of a dirty bathroom mirror. It was after lunch, and mostly everybody had headed back to class. She was just standing there, alone, hands supporting her small weight over the frame of the sink. Her dark wavering eyes frantically viewed her reflection. She breathed quick, shallow breaths.

"You can do this," she whispered, trying to enlighten her spirits. "Just do it."

With a brush of confidence, she recomposed herself and exited the bathroom, where she ventured down the hallway. Feeling a bit self conscious, she passed the class she was _supposed _to be in, and instead turned a corner, going straight into school's empty theater. Skipping class for the first time ever to meet her friend.

"Anna?" Thea called as she slipped into the theater, closing the door behind her. She blinked her eyes, but it was too dark to see anything.

As her eyes adjusted to the dark, empty space, she saw Anna's figure lounging on the stage across the room.

"Hey, you," Anna replied, somewhat raising her voice. She was smiling; her smile was so bright it shone through the dark. "Come on. Have a seat."

Thea felt a splurge of happiness rise in her chest. She ran down the aisle and hopped up on stage, right next to Anna.

"I thought you'd get cold feet," Anna laughed. She wrapped her arm around Thea's shoulder, squeezing the girl's shoulder with her fingers.

"I almost did," Thea admitted. "I've never skipped class before."

"Well, now you can mark that off your bucket list," Anna said. "I'm really proud of you for doing this." Still looking at her, and still smiling, she leaned forward and kissed Thea's cheek.

Thea blushed a deep shade of red as Anna pulled away from the small kiss. To her, it felt like there was a spark of intense emotion as Anna had leaned in and innocently kissed her; she didn't want it to stop. She didn't want the kiss too only be for her cheek. Her lips were cold.

"W-what was that for?" Thea stammered, still blushing. She looked past Anna, not able to look directly in her overbearing green eyes.

Anna smiled teasingly. "I'm not sure. I just felt like doing it."

There was a long, awkward pause.

"Thea?"

Thea jumped a little, then glance briefly into Anna's staring eyes. "... Yeah?"

Anna, for the first time in conversation, was beginning to appear nervous.

"Oh, nothing. Nevermind." She quickly forced a smile, and then gave another reassuring squeeze on Thea's shoulder. "I'm just so happy you're here with me."

* * *

Melchior sat his tray at his unusually empty lunch table.

"Where is everyone?" he asked Moritz. Looking around, he could see the cafeteria was nearly a wasteland. Only a few unassuming freshman, and the entire soccer team, were eating lunch.

"Beats me," Moritz shrugged.

There was a beat, and then Moritz's head shot up. "Oh, I remember. Everyone went to the chapel to pray for Ilse."

Melchior raised an eyebrow and stuck a straw in his strawberry milk. "They're praying for Ilse?"

Moritz nodded, looking down at his food.

"What happened to her?"

Moritz shrugged once again. "Beats me."

Melchior rolled his eyes. He glanced briefly around the room, and then noticed Hanschen talking with Ernst by the lunch line. He summoned the blonde jock with the wave of a hand. Hanschen took notice of this, muttered something to Ernst, and then went on over to Melchior.

"Sup, Melchie?" Hanscen asked, coming over and glancing behind himself.

"Hey Hanschen," Melchior nodded. "What's wrong with Ilse? I heard everybody went to the chapel to pray for her."

"Oh, she's in the emergency room," Hanschen replied. He stuck his hand behind his head. "They found her passed out last night at some public school party. It was bad."

"Shit," Melchior muttered. He looked over at Moritz and noticed the soulful sleepyhead boy had frozen up, his eyes blinking nervously under long wisps of bedhead hair.

* * *

"Really, Melchie, we don't have to do this," Moritz whispered urgently as the two entered the school's chapel.

Melchior seemed proud as dozens of heads turned to view the boys.

"Melchior, we saved you a seat," Martha, one of his best friends, whispered from the front pew, patting the space beside her. He nodded gratefully at her, and then nudged Moritz in the ribs.

The two boys walked past the long rows of pews; as Melchior went past the freshman section, he felt something stir in his chest. It was as if his heart skipped a few beats. He felt a distinct pair of eyes watching him closely with doses of passion and emotion. With a small breathe, he glanced over at the eyes and looked directly into Wendla Bergman's frightful face. As soon as he saw her, she made an inaudible gasp and looked straight forward, her praying hands trembling slightly.

He summoned enough strength to look forward and keep himself calm. But for the rest of the prayer service, rather than pretend to pray, being the atheist he was, he thought of Wendla, how she must have been staring at the back of his head. And also, he thought of Moritz, who seemed to pray harder than he'd ever prayed before.

* * *

"Poor Ilse."

Melchior and his group of friends stood together outside the chapel: Moritz, Martha, Otto, George, and Hanschen. School was out now, and the air outside was beginning to have faint hints of autumn, although it was still early in the school year.

"Yeah, I can't believe she's spiraled downhill like this," George said, taking a drag on a cigarette.

"Maybe her parents will have an intervention with her," Otto said. He seemed hurt when the others frowned at this suggestion. "_What?_ It's just a suggestion!"

Martha snorted in disgust, hatred gleaming in her eyes. "Her parents won't do shit with her. She's their only daughter, but they won't do shit."

Without warning, Moritz turned from the group and began stomping away, his fists crammed in his uniform jacket.

"Moritz?" Melchior called, coming after him. "What the hell are you doing?"

"Nothing," Moritz yelled from over his shoulder. "I've got a shitload of homework. Equations, an essay. Leave me alone for once."


	3. No More Weeping Anymore

**A/N:** I've read all the reviews for this story, and I must say I am _so_ sorry for not updating. I always look forward to writing for this. It's been a busy summer, but let it be known, this is my top priority, and I have a plan for this storyline. Thank you so much! And once again, I'm sorry.

* * *

"Game time," Hanschen said with a soft, purring sense of seduction layered in his voice.

He sauntered across the locker room over to Ernst, who trembled wide-eyed as he held a camera, cowering near the locker room's showers. "H-h-hanschen... Not now. Somebody might come in and see us. I just need a photo for the school newspaper."

"So be it," the blonde brute shrugged, a smile playing at his lips as he pulled his soccer jersey off, revealing shining muscles and a bare chest. He then wrapped the shirt around his shoulders in one smooth sweeping motion. "Take this for a picture."

He inched closer to Ernst, so that the two were face to face. Ernst, although still shaking, felt himself slowly becoming enamored by the pearly, creamy blue color of Hanschen's slanted eyes.

"If they walk in, you'll be kicked off the team," Ernst whispered.

Somewhere inside the showers, water dripped. The baby hairs on Ernst's neck lifted slowly in cadence with the electric tingling inside his pants.

"Shut up," Hanschen ordered. He grabbed the small boy by the shoulders and slammed him forward, sending Ernst straight against the cement wall. Their lips forcefully pressed together. They stood struggling and passionate in that position for a small while, as Hanschen experimented with tongue movements, and Ernst willfully received everything coming his way.

Eventually, a small noise could be heard down the locker room's hall. Somebody had opened a door. Hanschen whipped around, waited a slight second, and then turned back to Ernst, pressing their foreheads together.

"We'll continue this after the game, my love," Hans whispered before they came apart.

* * *

Moritz' eyes snapped open.

"Huh?" he muttered, blinking and bringing his hands to his face, rubbing his dry, drool-slabbered skin.

He was slouched over on a plastic chair, sitting inside a room; it was a white room, unfamiliar to him. As his body adjusted to this new environment, he heard his name spoken by a soft, wind-sounding voice.

"Moritz Stiefel!"

He looked up from his palms and met eyes with Ilse. She laid in a long, white bed, wearing a gown. There was an IV wrapped around her arm, and a heart monitor beeped slowly from a machine several feet away

"Oh shit," Moritz said, beginning to smile. He realized where he was: he was in Ilse's hospital room, paying her a visit. "I fell asleep waiting for you. How long have you been up?"

Ilse returned the smile, gazing at him dreamily from where she laid. "Not that long. You're an interesting sleeper, you know. You twitch and drool and make small little noises."

Moritz grimaced, a small blush creeping into his thin cheeks. "That's kind of embarrassing."

There was an uncomfortable pause as Ilse's ill situation seemed to distract the both of them. Neither of them spoke, but Moritz could sense the discomfort in Ilse's eyes. Whether it was shame, embarrassment, or worry, he couldn't tell exactly. But it loomed over the small talk.

"How do you feel?" he asked quietly. He found himself unable to look directly into her eyes.

Ilse ignored his question. "We haven't talked since freshman year," she said. She lifted herself up slightly, moving so that her backside leaned against the frame of the bed.

"I guess things changed," he offered.

"No," Ilse said softly. "_We_ changed."

He cleared his throat, still staring at the floor. "... How? I mean, how exactly did we change? I know Melchior became somewhat of a pretentious tool, but—"

"Melchior was always a douche. Even when we were little and played pirates, his pirate character was completely over the top. And you, well... You became more nervous and quirky as you aged." She took a pause to smile. "And as for me, well—I've made bad choices. But with every bad choice, there's a reason."

"A reason?" Moritz asked.

"Nevermind," Ilse said quickly. "Anyway, sleepyhead, it's Friday night. The big game's about to start. I think the school's playing against the reformatory school? You should go to it, you know. It would be a good time."

"I don't know," Moritz said, shifting in his seat. "I'd rather just stay here. With you."

But he recognized the desperation in Ilse's eyes. She _wanted_ him to go.

He grabbed his jacket and said a meaningful goodbye. And then, off to the soccer game.

* * *

For the longest time, Wendla stared in awe at the small brown curls on the back of Melchior's head. His neck gleamed with tight muscle. Each moment in which he turned his body, his eyes dance with humor and maturity. To put it simply, he was the most beautiful boy she had ever seen.

"_Wendla,_ stop staring," Anna whispered, nudging her friend in the arm. "You couldn't be more obvious."

It was the first game of the season. The freshman girls were seated in the freshman section of the bleachers— far, far away from the more comfortable and inclusive senior section, where handsome Melchior was cheering, enjoying a good time with his friends.

Off on the crisp field, the team's goalie Hanschen blocked a rival player's misguided shot. The crowd erupted into roaring cheers.

Wendla sighed deeply. "He's just rather handsome."

The autumn air was chill. Anna shivered in her school sweater, and then rubbed her pink hands together. "Well, he _is_. But he's a liberal. And by liberal, I mean, he's a radical feminist, athiest, and intellect. Very different from our kind of people."

"I heard he writes poetry," Thea added, meeting eyes with Anna. "Romantic poetry."

The two girls stared at each other for the faintest moment. Wendla didn't take any notice of their shy blushing. Her gaze was still locked on faraway Melchior.

"He very well may be a little different from the rest of us," Wendla said, nodding, "and certainly my mother would never approve of him."

"—and the church wouldn't either," Anna interrupted.

"—but there's something about him," Wendla continued. "There's something between us. I just know it. No, I feel it."

And in that very moment, the game's half time was announced. Crowds of students rose from their seats, off to take restroom breaks and get food. Wendla excused herself from her friends. She set off down the bleachers, skipping past upperclassmen.

After walking a few yards, she caught sight of the restrooms and realized the line was far too long. It'd be fifteen minutes before she'd be able to squeeze herself in for a quick pee. But not wanting to go back to her friends, who seemed to behave rather differently tonight, she decided to simply stand where she stood and have a moment of peace.

Her breath came out in thick, gray clouds of fog.

"It's a cold night," a deep voice said.

She whipped around, ready to agree with this seemingly useless comment. And then, her heart froze in her chest, her mouth went dry with shock.

She didn't expect to see Melchior Gabor standing there. But yes, he was_ there_, facing her completely, alone and looking directly into her face. With his great height, he seemed to arch over her, his dark eyes dancing calmly with her's. His breath wasn't affected by the chilly September air. In essence, he seemed to be hot, small drips of sweat soaked through his school shirt.

After taking a moment to recompose herself, Wendla hastily said, "It is most certainly a cold night. But if one were to judge the weather from _your_ appearance and not my breath, they'd conclude the opposite of the temperature. You're sweating."

She spoke her words and then took a shaky breath, not breaking eye contact.

Melchior's eyebrows lifted. He cocked his head slightly, though his eyes remained intact. "Wendla Bergman, I never expected you to be so—" he paused carefully on his wording, "—so mature."

On the word "mature", his eyes briefly flicked to her chest.

"It's been a while since our childhood, Melchior. But I suppose everyone grows up eventually," she retorted. She was unsure whether she should be flattered at his comment, or insulted.

In the distance, a warning whistle was blown. Half time was wrapping up.

Melchior glanced over at Martha and Moritz, who were beckoning him from the bleachers. "Wendla," he began, turning his undivided attention back to her, "I know you might not remember me. And hell, you might not care to see me anymore. But I've been thinking back to the time we spent as kids."

"Yes?" she urged him on after he hesitated.

"And, well... It's hard to explain. But I'd love to talk later. Would you please meet me after the game?"

Wendla took a sideways glance and then nodded quietly. "Yes, Melchior."

"Fantastic!" he broke seriousness and flashed a bright smile. Excitement washed over his expression.

The two began walking up the bleachers. He asked, "I'll walk you to your seat. Where are you seated?"

Wendla pointed to the freshman section over in the far off backside of the bleachers, where Anna and Thea were seated close together, legs pressed together as if to keep each other warm. "That's my group. You don't have to walk me, though—"

"It's not a bother," he shook his head. "I'd prefer to walk you."

And thus, the two walked. Bodies separated by cold air and a few wavering inches.


End file.
